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spirits-for into its depths should that Yon orb, but now who swept the East, pathos sink, it will find there a repose With train of ruby and amethyst, it cannot disturb, or a trouble it can- Rides on, unweariedly as ever, not allay. The truths they tell have O'er frowning rock, and glitt'ring river ; been so long familiar there, that we Those trees, I own, are somewhat higher,seem to hear but our own voice again The ivy round the village spire giving utterance to thoughts that for
In fuller-clust'ring leaf has grown,
We cannot call that cot our own,many years have lain silent, but alive, in their cells-like slumberers awak
But what has changed in this sweet glen ened at midnight by solemn music,
As we from what our hearts were then ? lifting up their heads for a while to
Say you, the glow of hope is bright,
And if it be a meteor light, listen, and then laying them down to
That hurtles through the thick’ning sky, relapse into the same dreams that had
'Tis wise to catch it ere it die ? possessed their sleep. But ye
Tell you me, 'tis a joy to feel still young—yet have begun to expe
Our toil increase a fellow's weal ? rience how sad it is and mournful ex
That, 'mid these fainting, fading, bowers, ceedingly to regret, perhaps to weep There linger still some am'ranth flowers, over, the passing away and the past, And honest will, and honest prayer, because that something was that never Will find them lurking every where ?-more may be-ponder ye on the strain, Say on, I can but add, Amen,and lay the moral, the religious lesson We are not now as we were then. it teaches within your hearts. So may the sadness sanctify—and the “ Oh, Brother! when I gaze upon Spirits that God sends to minister un
These tombs of little blisses gone,to us children of the dust, find you When, through the dense and steamy air, willing to be comforted, when Youth Which we with men are wont to share, has left you, heedless if to despair- A breeze of distant youth has stole for Angel though he seem,
he is not of In freshness on my fevered soul, heaven-but of heaven are they, and I feel like one who long has lain therefore immortal.
With madness gath'ring in his brain, Now receive into your hearts, 0
And, bursting from the strong distress,
Wakes to a terrible consciousness. Youths !-undivided by any commentary of ours—these three strains po- Blame you the agony on my brow?
Then blame you, that my pulse beat now, tent in the peace they breathe_and There was, when fear was all a stranger, verily, even in this noisy world the Ere knowledge showed the way to dangerpeaceful are the strong. The first, it When love was firm—when faith was sure, is true, speaks of change, decay, and And head and heart alike secure ;trouble—and the second is saddened But now, ...
. . Remember you a flower by the melancholy which imagination which we with care, from sun and often carries into the heart_but the shower,third is elevating and ennobling—and It was our mother's,-loved to guard, the three, thus read as one, leave the And how we joyed in our reward, spirit calm, and prepared to face the When first we watcht its bloom appear, future in the confidence of love and When it was old so many a year ; truth.
And how we heard, with tearful eye,
That that bright plant would bloom no " Six years, six cycles of dead hours,
more? Six falls of leaves, six births of flowers, The flowers fell off, - the stalk was gaIt is not that, you know full well,
thered, That makes my lab’ring bosom swell, The root grew dry,--the lank leaves wi'Tis not the memory of lost Time,
But, Brother, still we linger on.
“ Between the cradle and the shroud, Through thousand
glistens If chance, amid the pilgrim crowd, still,
Though strange the time and strange the Yon stream will ne'er to time surrender place, Its rapid path of diamond splendour,- We light on some familiar face,
TO MY BROTHER,
Once loved and known, as friend knows Little of care or thought are wanted friend,
To guard its beauty fresh and whole ; In whom a thousand memories blend, But when the one empassioned age Which whilom slumbered dull and dim, Has full revealed the magic bloom, But rise in light and cling to him ;
A wise and holy tutelage Though not a trait of old as wont,
Alone can shun the open tomb. Though care has knit the ample front, And vice unstrung the well-toned frame, “ It is not Absence you should dread, -Still something,—something is the same. For Absence is the very air But if we ever hope to find
In which, if sound at root, the head Some traces in that life-worn mind
Shall wave most wonderful and fair ; Of its pure self, its simple being,
With sympathies of joy and sorrow Such as it was, when, unforeseeing,
Fed, as with morn and even dews, We thought that Nature's laws would fail, Ideal colouring it may borrow Ere Sin could make its boldness quail ; Richer than ever earthly hues. Such as it was, ere sensuous things Had clipt the bird of Eden's wings, “ But oft the plant, whose leaves unsere Ere stified groan and secret sigh
Refresh the desert, hardly brooks Replaced the tear so soon brusht by,- The common-peopled atmosphere 'Tis vain,-alas, for human shame!
Of daily thoughts and words and looks; There nothing, nothing is the same. It trembles at the brushing wings
Of many a careless fashion-fly, “O that the painter's fav'rite scheme And strange suspicions aim their stings Were not alone a painter's dream! To taint it as they wanton by, O that the Paradise he feigns, Where Innocence with Childhood reigns, « Rare is the heart to bear a flower, And cherub forms and infant guise
That must not wholly fall and fade, Inclose the heart divinely wise,
Where alien feelings, hour by hour, Were not alone a Poet's creed,
Spring up, beset, and overshade ;
Better, a child of care and toil,
To pine neglected and forgot.
“ Yet when, at last, by human slight, To be for aye as we were then !"
Or close of their permitted day,
Such fine creations lapse away,-
Bury the relics that retain
Sick odours of departed pride, “ When first the Friendship-flower is Hoard as ye will your memory's gain, planted
But let them perish where they died." Within the garden of your soul,
“ We read together, reading the same book,
Yet with so much monotony,
More like a bee, that in the noon rejoices,
“ Then if some wayward or disputed sense
We had experience of a blissful state,
“ We prayed together, praying the same prayer,
“ The depth of human reason must become
“ But we were mortal still, and when again
Strange that with all our love of though we look with delight on the nature, and of art, we never were a work when done by others—the picPainter. True that in boyhood we
ture without the process—the prowere no contemptible hand at a Lion duct of genius, without thought of its or a Tiger-and sketches by us of mortal instruments. We work in such cats springing or preparing to words, and words are, in good truth, spring in keelavine, dashed off some images, feelings, thoughts; and of fifty or sixty years ago, might well these the outer world as well as make Edwin Landseer stare. Even the inner is composed, let materialists yet we are a sort of Salvator Rosa at say what they will. Prose is poetrya savage scene, and our black - lead we have proved that to the satisfaction pencil heaps up confused shatterings of all mankind. Look ! we beseech of rocks, and flings a mountainous you-how the little Loch seems to rise region into convulsions, as if an earth- up with its tall heronry—a central isle quake heaved, in a way that is no canny, —and all its sylvan braes, till it lies making people shudder as if something almost on a level with the floor of our
gone wrong with this planet of Cave, from which in three minutes we ours, and creation were falling back could hobble on our crutch down the
But we love scenes of inclining greensward to the Bay of beautiful repose too profoundly ever Waterlilies, and in that canoe be afloat to dream of 5
transferring them to among the Swans. All birches-not
Such employment would any other kind of tree-except the be felt by us to be desecration, pines, on whose tops the large nests re
pose—and here and there a still bird "A man's best things are nearest him, standing as if asleep. What a place Lie close about his feet, for Roes!
It is the distant and the dim Why, we are absolutely writing an That we are sick to greet : article, and to fill a sheet how pleasant For flowers that grow our hands beneath to have recourse again to such a man
We struggle and aspire,as Milnes! Thus
Our hearts must die, except they breathe
THE MEN OF OLD.
“ But, Brothers, who up Reason's bill " I know not that the men of old
Advance with hopeful cheer,Were better than men now,
0! loiter not, those heights are chill, Of heart more kind, of hand more bold,
As chill as they are clear ;
And still restrain your haughty gaze,
Remembe'ring distance leaves a haze
On all that lies below.” Of these appointed days.
Think not that we should have “ Still is it true, and over true,
wearied of our own company in this That I delight to close
Cave, had we been without a mateThis book of life self-wise and new,
rial book. In our mind is a library And let my thoughts repose
of other substance—and we are al. On all that humble happiness, The world has since foregone,
ways in a state of clairvoyance. We The daylight of contentedness
have been reading Milnes now with That on those faces shone !
the palm of our hand-but that is With rights, tho' not too closely scanned,
merely because the volume happens Enjoyed, as far as known,
to be on the table-we see through With will by no reverse unmanned, - Shakspeare, and Milton, and Spenser, With pulse of even tone,
and Wordsworth, in the niche yonThey from to-day and from to-night der—nor need they be there--for Expected nothing more,
with shut eyes we can read in to ourThan yesterday and yesternight
selves the Paradise Lost, and the ExHad proffered them before.
cursion, and the Fairy Queen, and the
Tempest, in editions out of print, and “ To them was life a simple art
that we never saw—what think you Of duties to be done,
of that, Dupotet? Doctors ElliotA game where each man took his part,
son and Lardner, pray hold your peace. A race where all must run ;
We tie our black silk neckerchief A battle whose great scheme and scope
round our eyes—till we are as blind They little cared to know,
as a mole, a bat, or as an impostorContent, as men at arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe.
turn you up“ Poems of many Years"
- correct us if we err in a single syl. “ Man now his Virtue's diadem
lable—and hearken to Christopher in Puts on and proudly wears,
his Cave—spiritually not animally Great thoughts, great feelings, came to magnetized - reading the “ Lay of them,
the Humble" — with his thumb! Like instincts, unawares : Blending their souls' sublimest needs With tasks of every day, They went about their gravest deeds, “ I have no comeliness of frame, As noble boys at play.-
No pleasant range of feature ;
I'am feeble, as when first I came “ And what if Nature's fearful wound To earth, a weeping creature; They did not probe and bare,
My voice is low whene'er I speak, For that their spirits never swooned And singing faint my song ; To watch the misery there,
But though thus cast among the weak, For that their love but flowed more I envy not the strong.
fast, Their charities more free,
“ The trivial part in life I play Not conscious what mera drops they can have so light a bearing
On other men, who, night or day, Into the evil sea.
For me are never caring;
THE LAY OF THE HUMBLE.
That, though I find not much to bless, Enjoy the breeze,—I rock with them,
We' are merry brothers all.
“ I do remember well, when first
I saw the great blue sea,“ The beautiful! the noble blood !
It was no stranger-face, that burst I shrink as they pass by,
In terror upon me ; Such power for evil or for good
My heart began, from the first glance, Is flashing from each eye ;
His solemn pulse to follow,
And shouted to their hollo.
“ The Lamb that at it's mother's side
Reclines, a tremulous thing, “ 'Tis true, I am hard buffeted,
The Robin in cold winter-tide, Though few can be my foes,
The Linnet in the Spring, Harsh words fall heavy on my head,
All seem to be of kin to me,
And love my slender hand,
In one defensive band,
“ And children, who the worldly mind
And ways have not put on, “ To me men are for what they are, Are ever glad in me to find They wear no masks with me;
A blithe companion : I never sicken'd at the jar
And when for play they leave their homes, Of ill-tuned flattery;
Left to their own sweet glee, I never mourned affections lent
They hear my step, and cry, 'He comes, In folly or in blindness ;
Our little friend,-'tis he.'
“ Have you been out some starry night,
And found it joy to bend “ And most of all, I never felt
Your eyes to one particular light, The agonizing sense
Till it became a friend ? Of seeing love from passion melt
And then, so loved that gliste'ning spot, Into indifference;
That, whether it were far
It still was your own star.
“ Thus, and thus only, can you know,
How I, even scorned I, I almost fancy that the more
Can live in love, tho' set so low, I am cast out from men,
And' my ladie-love so high ; Nature has made me of her store
Thus learn, that on this varied ball, A worthier denizen ;
Whate'er can breathe and move, As if it pleased her to caress
The meanest, lornest, thing of all-
Still owns its right to love.
“ With no fair round of household cares
Will my lone hearth be blest, “ Athwart my face when blushes pass Nor can the snow of my old hairs To be so poor and weak,
Fall on a loving breast ; I fall unto the dewy grass,
No darling pledge of spousal faith And cool my fevered cheek;
Shall I be found possessing, And hear a music strangely made,
To whom a blessing with my breath
Would be a double blessing :
“ But yet my love with sweets is rife,
With happiness it teems, “My dreams are dreams of pleasantness, - It beautifies my waking life, But yet I always run,
And waits upon my dreams ; As to a father's morning kiss,
A shape that floats upon the night,
Like foam upon the sea,
Of present Deity!